


Consultation

by theghostsofeurope (baronvonehren)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Porn With Plot, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baronvonehren/pseuds/theghostsofeurope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Sebastian Moran is a prestigious professor of Romantic literature. One of his students just so happens to be the brilliant and bored Jim Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consultation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission fill for a very lovely friend! I've posted my rates on http://theghostsofeurope.tumblr.com if you're curious.

Many of Dr. Sebastian Moran’s colleagues use the word ‘old-fashioned’ to describe him and to be honest, that isn’t far off. He is that stereotypical tweed-and-twill professor. He has a nearly military bearing, his herringbone jacket draped over the lectern, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and chalk in hand. Dr. Moran is known within the University to be one of the most demanding professors, especially so as the head of the literature department—a marked achievement, considering his young age. His course on Romantic Literature, heavily focusing on Keats, is perhaps the most challenging course within the University. Students of many disciplines take it, not as a requirement and usually not out of curiosity, but rather for the prestige. 

Jim Moriarty was one of the unusual sorts. He didn’t care about the requirements—he got those out of the way during his first year so he could focus wholly on his core classes. He didn’t care about the prestige either. He took it because it was a challenge. Or, rather, at first it was a challenge. Dr. Moran was the sort that didn’t speak unless he was in front of an audience, but god did he ever prattle on about the most obvious and mundane things.

“Your grades are dismal at best,” Dr. Moran wipes his hands on his trousers and Jim wrinkles his nose. “Those that are failing and would do well to drop the class: I’ve written you a note on your exam.” He clears his throat and looks to his wristwatch, “now, I figured you wouldn’t want to be in class today, it’s a fine day. So you can either pick up your exam now or--” he gestures vaguely, “You can tell your peers who have wisely decided to skip class that they may pick up their exams in my office, today. You know my office hours, they’re on the syllabus.”

There was the rush of the curious and worried to get their exams and leave before Moran could reprimand them further, and then the flurry of papers stuffed into backpacks and shoulder-bags. Jim put on his headphones and started to leave before he was flagged down. “Moriarty! James Moriarty!” He turned, pulling one side off to hear better. It was the professor. Something like anticipation flared up within him. “I want to see you after class.”

Jim sat down in the front row, waiting as the last students filed out. One student, a mousy, brown-haired girl, was practically in tears. Jim craned his neck to see a “B-“ on her paper as she left and he sniffed. She must be a medical student. They always were so touchy about marks.

Dr. Moran finished putting his papers into his briefcase and looked up with a mild smile. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

Jim practically laughed. He pointed to the chalkboards instead of dignifying him with an answer. They were still littered with his curling cursive. “You’re not going to wipe that off for the next?” He asked, innocently enough.

“And help poor Dr. Stern out?” Moran smiled a bit crookedly, “fuck him.” He pulled his briefcase off the desk with a grunt and it struck his leg, sounding quite full. “We’ll be going to my office, third floor of the Humanities building.”

Jim lifted his eyebrows at that. He knew tensions were high between the two of them—they were practically academic rivals. Dr. Stern was an older man and, just like his name hinted, he could be a stern asshole. Someone put a mouse in his tea once—Dr. Stern didn’t find it until he was halfway done with the cup—and he always blamed it on Dr. Moran. Or at least, that was the rumour. Jim was quite well-learned in the study of gossip and blackmailing. Not to mention nasty pranks. “Your office hours aren’t for another two hours.” He felt a thrill—Dr. Moran, making an exception? If that wasn’t some sort of reputation-damaging dirt, nothing would be.

“Yes, well.” Dr. Moran dropped it at that. “I’ve never understood why they make me lecture all the way across campus.” He mused, “they’re right bastards.” He looked to Jim, casting his eyes about almost nervously. “Pardon.”

Jim quirked a brow but said nothing. They walked to the Humanities building, ignoring the improvised rugby match that had broken out on the lawn. “You don’t play sport, do you, Moriarty?” Moran asked, more to himself than to Jim. “You’re missing out, James. Nothing like the camaraderie of team play, except maybe the military.” He gave him a silent once over as the crowded into a lift, “not your sort of thing though.”

“And what is my ‘sort of thing’?” Jim bit his tongue behind his lips to keep himself from saying anything unwise.

Moran grunted and hefted the briefcase as they exited the lift and walked down the hall, his leather loafers slapping too loudly on the cheap linoleum. They didn’t bother to renovate the Humanities offices at all. There was no air-conditioning and the air was frankly stifling. Jim pulled at his shirt collar fruitlessly as Moran fumbled at the door. With a jingle of keys they were inside.

Dr. Moran’s office was piled high with books, not just books on Romantic literature. He seemed to have a broader interest than that. Oddly enough, there was a great stack of military manuals in the only consultation seat. Moran threw his too-full briefcase on his already over-stacked desk and yanked up the window. He had to prop it open. He was right, Jim mused, they were ‘right bastards’. “Just move those books from the chair”, he motioned, throwing himself down into his own chair. He suddenly wriggled upwards with an expression of shock and pulled a sharp-cornered hardback out from under him.

Jim grunted and huffed and finished stacking the books beside the chair. He slid into it, as if boneless. His shirt marked with sweat, he let out a sound of irritation. “What was it you wanted me for?” He looked away from the certificates on the walls and found that Moran had a very suspicious flask in his hand and was taking a great gulp from it.

“Pardon,” Dr. Moran said again, this time with a certain gusto that spoke more than his apology. He capped it and slid it back into a drawer. “You don’t know why you’re here?” He grabbed the edge of his briefcase and spun it around, knocking several papers to the floor in the processes. Then he popped the locks on it and rummaged around.

“No, actually.” Jim felt that not-quite nervousness again.

Moran laughed. “You’re here because you’ve made a tit out of yourself.” He slapped down Jim’s paper and slid it across the small expanse of table clear, still rucking up papers as he went. “You know my office hours by memory, hell, you know a lot more then you let on. But you never come to class.” He leaned back in his chair, looking on in satisfaction as Jim lifted his paper with trembling hands.

“Failing marks,” Jim creased his brow, raising his voice slightly, “you can’t do—“

“You’ll find I can damn well do what I please, James.”

“It’s Jim,” he tapped the name at the top for emphasis, “Jim Moriarty. And what about my paper was so,” he struggles for words, “unsatisfactory.” He rolls the word around in his mouth like hot meat and spits it out.

“Your marked disinterest, for one. Do you really think you can scrape by with that meager piece of shit?” He sat up straighter, watching for Jim’s reaction. “You give me a fraction the effort you give your Maths, and that,  James, is unacceptable. I know you can do much, much better than this,” he motions, “garbage. You wasted my time. I had to read through one-hundred and twenty four papers.” He draws it out in the air between them to emphasize, “and honestly, I was expecting brilliance at some point.”

“You’re punishing me because my classmates write shallow shit?”

“No,” Moran leaned back, “I’m punishing you because you’re an arrogant ass.”

Jim is momentarily taken aback. He sits back in his chair, now genuinely boneless. “You’re brilliant,” Moran comments after a time, “but you’re wasting your time and you know it. You want to be challenged, you’re bored with the class and from what I can tell, you’re directionless. And don’t give me any of that stupid ‘I know what I want’ bullshit. No one knows what they want, they just go with the best option at the time. Everyone ends up changing their mind. You may want astrophysics ‘for the rest of your life’ but wake up next week and suddenly want to study art.”

“So you brought me here to call me an indecisive, arrogant asshole and to shove shit in my face?” Jim shrugs and grins, “peachy. That’s just nice. When I give a few fucks I’ll get back to you, but please don’t inconvenience yourself.”

Moran rose to his feet as well. “I brought you in here to give you some direction, you whelp. Now sit down.” He says it with such force that Jim stops at the door, hand on the knob. “I want to make sure that whatever you pursue, you go for it with everything you’ve got. You’re wasting time and talent if you’re not willing to do that. If it isn’t great, drop it.”

He turned on his heel, “I’m not dropping your goddamn class.” He all but snarled, leaning over the desk. “And you’re not going to penalize me for not caring.”

Moran didn’t back down. “You better put some goddamn effort in it or I’ll inform your entire department that you’re a lazy cunt who can’t be bothered to respect his elders.”

Jim’s nostrils flared and he balled his fists. Moran leaned in, barely an inch from his face. Jim could feel his breath on his nose. “Take a swipe at me and I’ll beat your bloody nose in, and then we’ll see how good you are at Maths when you can’t look down without tears in your eyes.”

“Dr. Stern would love to hear about how you abuse your students.”

“Dr. Stern can kiss my ass.” Moran retorted, his whiskey breath hot on Jim’s face.

Jim gritted his teeth. Professor Moran wasn’t going to budge at all. He had never met such a tenacious, hard-ass educator in all of his life. “So what do you want me to do? This exam was half of our grade, there’s no way I’m recovering from that.”

“Rewrite the paper,” Dr. Moran breathes and pulls away, pulling at his collar. The room had gotten cooler but not much. Sweat beaded on his brow. “If you rewrite the paper and it’s satisfactory, I’ll consider passing you.”

“’Passing’,” Jim murmured, still looking livid, “you won’t give me above a C, is that it?”

“I’m being incredibly generous, you ungrateful twat.” It wasn’t an insult, it was nearly fond. He turned around, as if being modest, and pulled off his sweater. God knows why he would even contemplate wearing that in the summer months. Stuffy tradition always suffers.

“So there’s no way I could earn an A in the class, at all?” Jim whined theatrically, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“You could suck my prick and I wouldn’t give you an A.” Dr. Moran laughed but Jim’s eyebrows wriggled at the opportunity.

It clicked at that moment. He may not be able to wheedle a higher grade out of Dr. Moran—the hard-ass—but he might be able to save face. So to speak, anyway. Oh, wouldn’t that be glorious dirt though? He could imagine sitting in an advisor’s office at the end of the semester, crocodile tears down his face, as he told them how the head of the literature department was a pervert that preyed on his young, male students.

Jim ran a hand along the desktop, over the leather briefcase, “what if it were a,” he pauses, “really, really talented blowjob?” Dr. Moran stiffened, still turned towards the window. Jim smiled sneakily, “what if I went for it with…everything I have?”

“I’m not—“

“Of course you’re not,” Jim purred, walking his fingertips along the desk. Moran’s eyes followed them. “Oh, definitely not. Especially with the way you like to stare.” Moran sucked in a loud breath. “But you know, we could give it a go. You still have at least an hour before your office hours.” Jim hummed under his breath and started to shift things around on the desk.

“What if I said I really, really want to.” Jim lowered his voice, watching the muscles in Moran’s lower back tense under his shirt. “It’s like a challenge,” he continued sweetly, “I’ll write the paper and suck your dick, if that means you’d not report me.”

Jim slinked around the desk and was starting to be uncomfortably close but Dr. Moran didn’t stop him. He was breathing faster, chest rising and falling jerkily. Jim wondered if he had ever done this before and excitement shot through him. “I’m not going to report you anyway,” Moran replied softly, lowering himself down into his seat and pointedly not looking up at him.

Jim hummed in a quiet triumph. “That’s not a ‘no’.” He slid to his knees and Moran spun his desk chair to face him but refused to look at him. His hands immediately went to unbuckling his braided belt and unbuttoning his taut slacks.

“Does that answer you?” His voice was tight, as though he were straining to speak. It was as if his conscience liked to lodge itself in his throat when making morally reprehensible statements.

Jim nudged at the fabric, letting his nose trail along Dr. Moran’s gradually hardening dick. Above him, Moran let out a low sound and scrabbled for a cigarette. “No smoking on campus, professor.” Jim mouthed at him through his briefs. He already tasted salty, hell he could have licked Dr. Moran’s leg and gotten that taste. Summer was the worst.

“I’d like to see them stop me.” Moran answered, flicking his lighter and taking a deep drag. “I thought you were supposed to be giving me a blowjob, not having a conversation.”

He laughed, huffing hot air into the professor’s crotch. “And to think—just a few moments ago you were so hesitant.” Jim pulled down Moran’s underwear, licking his lips as he watched the tip of his dick bob. It wasn’t so unappetizing, really, and it was well worth the effort.

“Bit hard not to be impatient,” Moran let out a grunt as Jim tongued the very tip, “when you’re doing that—Jesus Christ.” Ashes fluttered down the front of his shirt and into Jim’s hair as he nearly bit through the filter of his cigarette. He was right, of course. Blowjobs have a persuasive power by nature. 

Moran wisely stabbed out his cigarette, burning a hole in one of his exams. He uttered a wordless sound and Jim hummed in response, tracing the thick veins that lined the doctor’s dick with his tongue. “Like that,” the professor groaned, rolling his hips, “just like that. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

It’s a bit hard to laugh with a cock in your mouth but Jim managed. He looked up at Dr. Moran and bobbed his head, eyes dark and starting to water at the thick sensation in the back of his throat. He was a good three minutes in when his mobile started to buzz in his pocket. He swallowed and Dr. Moran gripped his armrests as if he were in fear of drowning. “Oh fuck,” he babbled, slapping a hand over his mouth and biting his knuckles as Jim did it again. Jim pulled off with an audible pop and pressed a kiss to the underside of his dick. “You tease, you fucker.” Moran sighed weakly.

“Now that’s no way to be,” he fished his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and fluttered his lashes, “aren’t you going to ask me nicely?”

Professor Moran’s toes curled in his shoes and he fought the urge to grab Jim’s head and force it down further as he took him back in. Jim smiled around his dick and his cheeks went hollow with suction. Moran’s fist connected with the table and he came, hips bucking.

Jim swallowed him down, grimacing slightly. Then, in a flash, he took a picture of Dr. Moran’s face. Moran gasped at him as though he were a dying fish. It seemed that it dawned on him what Jim could do to him. Jim smoothed his rumpled shirt and stood. “Same time next week then?”

Dr. Moran looked away, still shell-shocked. “Next week?” He didn’t bother to mask the exhausted half-horror in his voice. “You’re not reporting me?”

Moriarty snorted, “I’ll have the paper done by then.” He left the office and behind him, Moran was struggling to make himself presentable. He would be open for office hours in less than half an hour. Jim was so distracted he nearly collided with a student standing just outside.

Her eyes were wide, brown and sweet. She gave him a curious look, “what were you doing in there?”

She seemed gentle, jittery. The sort that were easily upset. “Just a bit of consultation.” He gave her a grin, a bit too broadly, with too many teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hah, isn't it a twist? I considered making Jim the professor (suits him, since he is Professor James Moriarty), but a good friend convinced me otherwise.


End file.
